There comes a time in every parent's life when you sit down with your child and have The Talk. My time was yesterday.
I didn't know it was coming. I thought we were just sitting there, cuddling and watching America's Next Top Model reruns. She asked the question, I offered the answers, and all of a sudden we'd crossed some invisible barrier. Quick and painless.
Changes are coming; I can see them hovering on the horizon. Or, if I'm to be completely honest, when I look at her. I'm not sure I like that. I don't much think she does, either. She's already said, "I don't want to grow up yet."
I don't want her to. I want her to stay childlike and innocent. I want her to stay small and huggable. I don't get that choice and neither does she.
At least she knows she can talk to me, and that I'm not going to BS her with some flowery, beat-around-the-bush answer. At least I know she still trusts me, and that I haven't yet become the enemy.